Web of Rage
by srg118
Summary: The return of an old enemy causes photographer Peter Parker to encounter rival reporter Jack McGee and a familar green-skinned creature. This takes place in the continuity of both the "Hulk" and "Spider-Man" shows on CBS during the 1970s.
1. Chapter 1  Welcome Home

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place during the continuity of the 1970s TV series "The Incredible Hulk", and takes place directly after the events of the two-part story "The Chinese Web" of the 1970s TV series "The Amazing Spider-Man", both of which aired on CBS.**

* * *

"Sir? Excuse me? Sir?"

Peter Parker opened his eyes, awakened from his long flight on an airplane by a blonde stewardess. Judging from the empty seats on the plane, he was the only one who had yet to exit. Peter saw the stewardess who was shaking him gently by the shoulder, though the look on her face was far from friendly. His bags were already waiting for him to pick up on the aisle floor.

"Sir, the plane's been grounded for the last five minutes."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Peter said apologetically, standing up. "It's just been a long flight."

"Longer for some of us, I'm sure," the stewardess said, stepping aside. She handed him his bags, practically pushing them into his arms. "Thank you for choosing us as your airline of choice."

"You're welcome... I think," Peter muttered, grabbing his bags. He moved by the annoyed stewardess, not giving her a second glance. Peter didn't mean to seem rude, but he'd been through a lot the past few days. He had been to China, had saved the life of his college teacher Professor Dent, had his identity discovered by his friend Emily, and had stopped a corrupt corporate leader named Zeider and his lackeys. Life was never easy, sure, but for the Amazing Spider-Man, life was just a little more difficult than usual.

As Peter walked out of the plane, down the stairs, and to the airport, all he could think about was Emily. How she was back in China, how it was unlikely he'd even see her again, how they shared that kiss together before he had taken his flight back to New York...

... and that she'd seen his face when he was unmasked by a doctor that was treating him for being hit by a poisoned dart. Two things then swam through Peter Parker's mind. First, he had to rely more on his strange spider-sense power to better protect himself from danger. Sure, he'd been Spider-Man for a while now, but his spider-sense was still so strange and new for him to handle. Secondly, he _really_, _REALLY_ had to find a way to make his mask less accessible. What if it wasn't a doctor who had unmasked him? What if it was one of the crimelords or petty thugs he had webbed up and sent to the police?

That's when Peter Parker noticed that his aunt, May Parker, was waiting for him at the airport. He flashed her a friendly smile.

"Aunt May?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her in a warm hug. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Ooh, it's _so_ good to see you, Peter!" Aunt May said happily. "I haven't seen you in quite a while! How are you? How was your trip in China?"

"Oh, it was just fine, Aunt May," Peter said, walking with her into the airport. "I have a lot to tell you about."

"Wonderful," Aunt May said. "I was hoping you could come over to dinner tonight. I've invited my next door neighbor, Anna Watson, and I'd love to catch up with you."

Peter smiled at the thought of this. He had slept through dinner during his flight back home. Of course, given the quality of the airline food, Peter was sure that it was a blessing in disguise that he wasn't conscious at the time. Besides, he did miss his aunt, and nobody - NOBODY - could beat her delicious home-cooking.

"I'd love to, Aunt May," Peter said. "I need to go home first, drop off my luggage, and then swing by the Daily Bugle to check in with Mr. Jameson. How does six thirty sound?"

"Perfect!" Aunt May said. "They'll be at my home by then."

"They?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Aunt May said, "Anna Watson's bringing her niece from Florida with her. She's about your age. Her name is Mary Jane Watson. She's going to the same college as you."

Peter's smile quickly became forced. "Oh...Great. I can't wait to meet her, Aunt May."

"Oh, you're just going to love her," Aunt May said, leaving the front doors of the airport with her nephew. She wrapped her arm around his and grinned from ear to ear. "I just know you two are going to love each other."

Peter looked at the parking lot and spotted his aunt's car. He knew what his aunt was implying. A blind date. With his neighbor's niece.

If only that poison had done the job back in China...

* * *

Elsewhere, at the National Register newspaper building in Chicago, Illinois, reporter Jack McGee was seated at his desk. He was on the phone, looking at a map of New Jersey. There were three green thumb tacks stuck into different parts of the map, two closer to the other and one at the western side of a distant town. The clock on the wall across the room read 1:10 p.m.

"You're sure that there wasn't a trace of him left, Cliff?" Jack asked.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Cliff said on the phone. "The last anyone saw that Creature of yours was down at Kirby's Deli. I saw the thing trash the entire southern side of it and then it ran off into an alleyway. Four would-be robbers were left unconscious after they tried to shoot the thing."

"So, the Hulk foils some block heads' burglary plans and then it runs off into the sunset once more," Jack groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. He had left again. Again. Without a trace... "Just once," Jack muttered, "I wish somebody could nail that thing's green feet to the floor."

"Well, from what I saw, Jack, he probably would've ripped the ground out from under them and kept on running," Cliff said.

Jack paused. He _could _easily picture that thing running off and not letting a simple thing like being nailed to the ground slow it down. Heck, the nails would likely break when they made contact with that brute's skin.

"Well, if you get anything, Cliff," Jack said, "ANYTHING at all, you call me. If I need to ask you anymore questions, I've got your phone number."

"And I've got yours," Cliff said on the other end. "Good luck, Jack. You're going to find that thing. I just know it. Goodbye."

"Yeah, sure," Jack moaned. "Goodbye."

Jack hung up the phone. He lit a cigarette with his lighter, puffed on it, and then lowered his head. Cliff Benson had been his friend for nearly three years and had just been in Jersey for the past two months. Cliff didn't believe Jack's Hulk stories. He found them to be a colossal waste of time. That is, until two days ago, when he was working the cash register in Kirby's Deli. And he saw the thing come in through the back door, and he did mean _through_ the back door.

Jack lowered his head and looked back at the map. That Hulk was out there somewhere. He knew it was close. He wasn't sure how, but he just... knew. He could feel it, all the way down to his bones. Jack looked at every inch of the map, and took the cigarette out of his mouth. He was trying to figure out which way the Creature had gone this time.

"Hey, Jack!"

Jack turned around and saw his friend, Mark, walk over to his desk. He had a file on his desk.

"Any luck with that Hulk of yours?"

"No," Jack said. He suddenly grinned, perking up. "Why? Have you got something?"

"In a way," he said. "You want weird? You should take a look at this."

He dropped a file down onto Jack's desk and a copy of the Daily Bugle newspaper fell out of it. Jack eyed the paper and then Mark.

"You want me to read our distinguished competition?" Jack asked. "What is this about?"

"Something that's more real than the Hulk," Mark said, "and a LOT easier to find."

Jack saw the headline of the newspaper. COSTUMED VIGILANTE SIGHTED OVER CITY. To his surprise, Jack's interest was piqued. He looked at the photo and saw a familiar man in a costume of red and blue, and a whole lot of webbing sown onto its red areas. On the man's red mask were mirrored lenses that covered over his eyes.

One word escaped Jack's mouth: "Spider-Man."


	2. Chapter 2 New Jobs

Jack looked at the newspaper, staring at the photo of Spider-Man on the front page. After a few moments, Jack glanced back at his friend Mark.

"This is what you think I should spend my time on?" Jack asked. "A wannabe freak in tights?"

"Why not?" Mark asked. "Think about it. Here's a guy in a costume, with superhuman powers, who stays in one place and never runs away. Besides, his stories have been making a small fortune for the Daily Bugle. If you find this guy, you can get an exclusive out of him. Even the Bugle hasn't gotten a single quote from this guy."

Jack looked at the picture and fought like hell to hide his smirk. Mark had a point. Chasing after the Hulk was expensive. He had put quite a bill on the Register's payroll to go out from city to city, everywhere from warehouses to homes, and he'd usually come up empty. Spider-Man was ideal in that he'd barely left the cities of New York. Unlike the Hulk, he could be talked to, reasoned with... could _talk back_.

"A-ha!" Mark said, pointing at Jack's small smirk. "I knew it! You_ are_ interested! The boss wants you to get one story on this guy! Concentrate on Spider-Man! Forget the Hulk, Jack!"

And just like that, Jack shot a nasty glare at Mark. _Forget_ the Hulk? He couldn't possibly be serious. He wasn't going to let all of his time and efforts of chasing after that creature be for nothing, especially not for a crackpot in red and blue pajamas.

"Now wait a minute, Mark," Jack snapped. "We've been friends for a long time. I trust you, I respect you. But don't expect me to be so stupid as to drop a story as big as the Hulk! When that creature shows itself again, and believe me he _will_, that's my next story! _That's _what I'll turn my attention to! Spider-Man is my job for now, but I'm not replacing him over the Hulk!"

"Look, it's your call, Jack," Mark snapped back, equally irritated. "But the fact is, you just don't have as good of a chance at getting to the Hulk than you do with this Spider-Man character. All our boss is talking about is getting through one story! If you get something out of it, great! I'll be the first one to help you tell the boss that the Hulk should be your main assignment! But this is what you've got, Jack, and you're not getting much attention at the rate you've been going on about the Hulk! It's up to you."

With that said, Mark turned and walked away. Jack watched as his friend walked off. Jack may have been an employee of the Register's for some time, but even so, that didn't mean he'd made a whole lot of friends. Jack kept to himself mostly, did his job, shut out everyone and everything so that he could focus his attention on the Hulk.

And now, after more months than he would've liked to remember chasing after John Doe and his green-skinned alter-ego, he had to get a story about Spider-Man or possibly lose his chance to find the Hulk.

Jack rubbed his chin and then got up from his desk. He rushed after Mark, who was standing and waiting for the elevator. Jack grabbed his friend by the arm gently and turned him around to face him.

"Mark, wait," Jack said, having calmed down. "I know you're just trying to help out. I get that. I appreciate it. I really do."

"Yeah," Mark said, puzzled. "So?"

"So," Jack answered, "you look like you know more about this Spider-Man than I do. Why don't I grab us some lunch and you tell me a little more about where I can find this guy? I'm buying."

Mark smirked. It was the first time he'd remember Jack ever wanting to buy him lunch, let alone sit at the same table with another person.

"Okay," Mark said, as the elevator doors slid open. "You buy the burgers, I'll give you all the information I've got on Spider-Man."

* * *

Back in New York, inside the upper level of the Daily Bugle, amid the secretaries and journalists and other staff members, a familiar African-American man was rushing down the hall and to the office of J. Jonah Jameson. He knocks on the door and waits.

"Yes?" Jameson called out.

The door opened and the man entered. J. Jonah Jameson was at his desk, having just lit his cigar. Jonah smirked as he saw the man enter the room. "Robbie!"

Joe "Robbie" Robertson walked over to Jonah's desk. He had been away on vacation for a while, and it felt good to be back in the Bugle once again.

"Hey, Jonah," Robbie said. "I was hoping I could speak to you a little bit about that update in the new science lab over on Empire State University."

"Just a minute, Robbie," Jameson said. "I'm waiting for our resident shutterbug to come in to hear about the story."

"What story, Mr. Jameson?" Peter asked, having entered the room. He smiled as soon as he saw Robbie. After all, he'd known him back when he was first hired to work at the Bugle. "Mr. Robertson! It's been a long time!"

"Hey, Pete," Robbie said, shaking Peter's hand. "How're things going with your old buddy Spider-Man?"

"Pretty busy, I'd imagine," Peter shrugged. "We don't really get much time to talk face-to-face."

"Well, I heard you just got back into town too," Robbie said. "You ready for your next assignment?"

"What is it?" Peter asked, looking at Jameson. "I'd love to get whatever photos you need, Mr. Jameson."

"I'm glad to hear it," Jameson said. "It's actually right up your alley. You'll be going to the new science lab at Empire State University. There's some kind of big demonstration that's going to take place there. Some scientist is going to show off his new invention designed to help treat patients suffering from radiation poisoning."

"Really?" Peter asked. "How?"

"Well, don't ask me how," Jameson said, handing Peter a folder. "It's not my invention! I don't know how it works! Robbie, I want you to go get Carson and have him cover the story with Parker. Carson will do the writing and Parker will get the photos."

Peter opens the folder and looks at the photo of a mid-40s, mustached man with short black hair. "Samuel Sterns?"

"You've heard of him?" Jameson asked.

"Oh, well yes, sir," Peter said, "I wrote a paper about him last year for my science class. He's one of the leading experts today in studying, cosmic radiation, x-rays, gamma rays..."

"All right, that's enough," Jameson said, waving Peter off. "I get it. He knows x-rays and y-rays and everything else. Just make sure you get some good pictures of him for the weekend edition."

"I will, sir," Peter nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Peter turned and quickly rushed out of the room. Jameson smiles and looks over at Robbie. Robbie smirks at Jameson, and Jameson's smile quickly vanishes.

"Well?" Jameson asked. "What're you smirking at? Go get Carson!"

* * *

At a business center in downtown New York, at 2:30 that afternoon , bus 710 slows down and stops at a bus stop. The bus driver opens the bus's door and a few passengers step off the bus and outside. The first is a pretty blonde in her 20s, carrying a bag over her shoulder. Following her out is a portly man with a beard and a suitcase in each hand. The last to exit the bus is a familiar man in his 30s, average looking with brown hair, and wearing a jacket over his shirt, blue jeans and boots. The man, Dr. David Banner, carries a lone bag over his shoulder. He looks left and then right, looking at his new surroundings. David walks off to the right side of the sidewalk, walking over to a new part of the business center. As the bus door closed and the bus drove off, David walked on down the sidewalk and over to a small pizza shop. The sign reads Roy's Pizza Parlor.

As David got closer, he glanced at the window. A help wanted sign was hanging in the window. David smirked. It wasn't an ideal place to work, but still, a job was a job. David grabbed the door, opened it and walked inside.

* * *

As David entered Roy's Pizza Parlor, he was quite surprised to find that it was much larger and longer than it seemed from the outside. It was also three times busier than he could've dreamed this store was capable of handling. By the looks at the men, women and children seated at the various tables, it was apparent there wasn't a free seat left out of the fifty-plus tables David could see. And judging from the people in line that reached from the cash register to the window to his left, David could tell that it was going to be a rather busy job at that.

"Hey, buddy!"

David turned and found that a taller man twice his size was in line to his right, along with at least fifteen other people David could see waiting. The taller man glared down at David, who was now in the middle of the line of customers.

"If you want a slice," the taller man added, "you have to go to the back of the line like the rest of us!"

"Excuse me, I didn't see the line," David quickly apologized, stepping out of the line. "I'm not here as a customer, I'm here for a job application."

Just then, a blonde waitress no older than twenty poked her head out from behind a busy table of customers and spotted David. She smiled at him like she'd just had her prayers answered by an angel.

"Hallelujah!" the waitress exclaimed.

The waitress, Jessica Cassidy, rushed over and shook David's hand, catching him by surprise.

"Sorry," Jessica said, ending the handshake. "It's just that most people don't willingly come down here to serve food at Roy's Pizza Parlor. They come here to _be_ served food. I'm Jessica, by the way. And believe me, I'll back you up for getting the job. Three of our workers are home sick with a virus and we're grossly short on people serving out pizzas."

"Well, if your boss has a minute, maybe..."

And on the "maybe", David found that Jessica had grabbed his arm and was excitedly pulling him over to the register. David found that the people working on the other side of the bar were rushing to make as many pizzas as were being ordered, and there were only five people in the back that David could see. At the bar, working the register, was a mid-40s man with thick glasses. The man was Roy, as David could see from his name tag.

"Hey, boss!" Jessica said. "We've got a nutcase who wants to come and work for us!"

Roy Hill instantly turned away from the customers to see David. "Seriously? You're a life-saver for wanting to work here! You're hired, Mister...?"

"Uh, my name is I'm David Bel-" David said, wanting to finish by saying "Belson". But before he could, Jessica had grabbed him by the arm and was moving him to the back room.

"Good to meet you, Mr. Bell," Jessica said. "Sorry to push you around back like this, but trust me, you're safer in here than out there, especially during our buy-one-large-get-a-second-half-off offer we've got tonight!"

Jessica walked David over to the kitchen, where he saw an African-American girl of 18 named Dawn, a portly bald African-American man named Vincent, a bearded musclar man in his 30s named Bobby, a lovely mid-30s Asian woman named Wendy, and a mid-20s man with short brown hair named Ben Matthews were all hurrying up to make food.

"Dawn, Vince, Bobby, Wendy, and Ben," Jessica said, pointing at each employee one by one, "this is David Bell. David Bell, these are your fellow under-paid, over-worked pizza slaves. You're gonna love them."

"Hey, Bell," Ben said, shaking David's hand. David ended the handshake and found pizza sauce was all over Ben's hand, and now, his own. Ben frowned, noticing his accident. "Sorry about that. Have you ever made pizzas before?"

"Yes, I have," David said.

"Great!" Bobby said, waving for David to approach him. "Put on an apron and come over to table three. We've got twenty extra-larges that need to be made in ten minutes, or they get a refund on their order."

With that, David grabbed an apron and rushed over to table three. He wasn't about to mess up on his first day on the job. And having little money left in his pocket, no thanks to his last need to spend money on new clothes from his last metamorphosis, David needed every dollar he could get, especially now. For now, he wasn't former physician and scientist David Banner. Now, he was newly-employed pizza worker David Belson... or rather, David Bell, as he'd been re-named by his new young friend.

As David began to spread the tomato sauce on the dough of an extra large pizza, he was hoping that he'd be able to find a job working in a lab again. As much as he really needed to get a paycheck, he much rather wished he could find a way to cure himself of the curse he'd been living with for the past few years. Maybe later he could find a newspaper and see if any other jobs were available. Maybe something in radiology. Maybe something soon.

Maybe...


	3. Chapter 3 Wonder Studios

At a restaurant, Jack and Mark sat at a large table. Mark had half of a cheeseburger and a few remaining fries on a plate, as well as a half-empty bowl of salad and a large cup of soda. Jack had a plate of food in front of him, consisting of his own burger, fries and large cup of diet soda. But none of Jack's food items had been touched. Instead, his attention is focused on one of the files on the table and the photos and news clippings inside.

"You know," Mark said, grabbing his burger, "you're food _has_ been here for the past fifteen minutes."

Jack looks at the next page and looks at the next news report. Mark raises an eyebrow, a bit worried.

"Uh-oh," Mark said. "I've seen that look on your face before."

"Don't worry," Jack said, looking up at Mark. "I'm just catching up on the previous reports about your Spider-Man project."

"Correction," Mark said, swallowing his bite of cheeseburger. "It's YOUR Spider-Man. I'm just the source that gave you the information on your next story."

Jack looked back at the clippings and grimaced.

"I admit," Jack said. "This Spider-Man is more interesting than I had once thought. But even so, he's certainly not as interesting as John Doe."

"Oh, God, Jack," Mark said, shaking his head. "We went a whole half-hour without talking about that Hulk of yours. Do we have to start now?"

"Sorry," Jack said. "I'm just getting used to this guy. It's been a while since I had a new story to focus on."

"All right, point taken," Mark said.

Jack smirked. "How about another burger as a peace offering? It's on me."

Mark returns the smile. "Now you're talking. But why don't you start with eating _yours_ first?"

Jack looked down at his plate of food and looks a bit surprised by the sight of it. It was as if he'd forgotten what he'd just ordered. Mark sits back smugly in his chair.

"Admit it," Mark said. "You're more taken with this Spider-Man guy than you want to admit. Name one thing he can do your John Doe can't."

"He can't undergo a physical metamorphosis into a green-skinned creature," Jack said, setting down his papers. "He can't crash through the side of a building with his fists. He can't demolish a steel chamber or break through glass windows six inches thick. He can't..."

"Jeez, I said ONE thing, Jack," Mark groaned.

Jack smiled. He grabs his hamburger and takes a bite out of it. Jack then swallows his bite of food and turns his head to see a brunette waitress walk to their table.

"Would you like any thing else?" the waitress asked.

"Actually, yes," Jack said, "Another round of drinks and another double cheeseburger for my friend, if you please."

"Right away," the waitress nodded.

As the waitress walks off, Jack turns his head back to Mark. Jack takes another bite out of his hamburger, swallows his bite of food, and then he sets it down on his plate. Jack glances at Mark as he picks up a page from the file.

"There," Jack said, looking at the page. "Now you can't say I didn't eat this time."

"Fine," Mark said. "But if you look down and find your fries missing, you have only your negligence to blame."

Jack didn't answer. He keeps his eyes on the clippings, looking at the last known report about Spider-Man. Mark grabs a handful of fries from Jack's plate and looks at his oblivious friend. Smirking, Mark eats the handful of fries. Behind the piece of paper, he doesn't see Jack smile and shake his head, well aware of his friend's actions. But it didn't matter. Right now, his attention was turned to Spider-Man 101.

For now, anyway.

* * *

In his apartment, Peter Parker was seated at his desk. He hadn't been able to see Dr. Sterns like he'd planned, but Peter wasn't worried. at the moment, he was loading a new roll of film into his camera to get ready for his assignment. Peter turned around as he heard his telephone ring. Peter walked to his bedside table, picked up the phone after the second ring, and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" Peter answered.

"Hello, Peter," his Aunt May said on the other end. "Are you on your way over?"

"Dinner plans with Aunt May!" Peter thought. "I almost forgot!"

"Yes, Aunt May," Peter said. "I was just on my way out."

"Oh, good," Aunt May said. "I do hope you don't mind it being the three of us tonight for dinner."

"Three?" Peter asked, puzzled.

"Oh, yes, dear," Aunt May said. "I'm afraid that Anna's niece won't be attending dinner after all. Anna was supposed to arrive at the airport to pick Mary Jane up, but the flight was delayed due to some kind of engine problem with the plane. She won't be in New York for at least another day or two."

"Oh, really?" Peter asked. "That's too bad. Well, I'll be there for dinner as soon as I can, Aunt May."

"All right, Peter," Aunt May said on the phone. "Goodbye, dear."

"Goodbye," Peter said.

He hung up the phone and couldn't help but smile. Well, his blind date problem had been solved. For today, at least. Peter looked at his clock and saw it was 5:50. He then turned around and glanced over at his closet. The hidden door in his closet had his Spider-Man costume and equipment stored inside of it. Peter had already started to make some modifications to his costume and to his web-shooters. Nothing too drastic. He was just making a few improvements here and there, changing things a little bit for the better. But for now, Peter simply shut the closet door and walked to the door to head out to his Aunt's home.

* * *

In a large business building downtown, within his office was Mr. White. He is seated behind his desk, wearing a business suit and blue neck tie. He had his new assistant, Louis, standing at his side. Louis was half a foot taller than White, bald and his lean muscled physique hidden under his suit and coat. White had his telephone held to his ear, talking to his other henchman Boris on the other end.

"What about the extra guards?" Mr. White asked.

"They're on their way over, Boss," Boris said on the phone. "We've got twenty guards already stationed at your new warehouse."

"Double it," White ordered calmly. "I want as much men for this assignment as possible."

"Yes, sir," Boris said on the other end. "When do we go back to New York, sir?"

"Once my new agent arrives," White said. He glanced down and looked at a Daily Bugle newspaper, where a photo of Spider-Man was displayed on the front page. Mr. White glared down at the photo of the man who had ruined his plans of gaining a billion dollar ransom and had forced him into hiding. "I want to make sure that we don't make the same mistakes for this next mission."

"Yes, sir," Boris said. "I'll be in touch."

"I'll call you back tomorrow night," Mr. White said. He hung up the phone and he looked at Louis. "Has our new friend entered the building yet, Louis?"

"Yes, sir," Louis said. He stepped away from Mr. White, walked around his desk and stood in front of him. "He arrived in the building ten minutes ago."

"Well, why didn't you send him in?" Mr. White snapped, irritated. "I didn't want to keep the spy waiting!"

"He doesn't mind waiting, sir," Louis said, turning around and his back facing Mr. White. Louis grabbed his face with his hands, moving them around. He was doing something to his face, pulling on it or something, but Mr. White wasn't sure exactly what. "After all, you were on the phone. Perhaps he didn't want to interrupt your call."

"Louis, what are you doing?" Mr. White asked, puzzled. Now Louis was taking something out of his eyes, one at a time. Contact lenses, maybe?

"Business is business, after all," Louis said, still moving his hands and pulling something off his face. From the front, from the sides, from every direction of his head. Mr. White just stared at Louis, puzzled as to what he was doing. "And I know exactly what kind of business you're dealing with."

"I asked you a question," Mr. White said firmly. "What are you _doing_, Louis?"

"Why do you keep calling me _'Louis?'_" was the man's answer, but the voice was not Louis's. His voice now had a distinct Russian accent.

Louis pulled at his hair, and to White's surprise, it was pulled right off. It was a wig, covering the bald head of a man with a white mask that covered his entire head and face. "Louis" turned around to reveal his true self, the mask-covered face of the Chameleon. The Chameleon smiled.

"Am I not everything you expected me to be?" the Chameleon grinned, speaking in his thick Russian voice. "I had met your friend Louis an hour ago."

"Then tell me," White asked, "just where is my real assistant now?"

The Chameleon turned and walked to the closet door of the office. He opened the door and revealed that the real Louis was lying asleep on the floor, breathing lightly.

"Is he dead?" White asked, annoyed at the sight of his unconscious henchman.

"No," Chameleon said, "I merely gave him a tranquilizer dart to the back of his neck. He should regain consciousness within the hour."

"Well, you certainly are as good as your reputation says you are," Mr. White said. "You should do perfectly for the job."

"What do you want me to do?" Chameleon asked, standing up straight and his hands behind his back, ready for whatever was asked.

Mr. White smiled at the Chameleon. He glanced down at the newspaper's front page, eyeing the photo of Spider-Man.

"I have a problem I need to take care of," Mr. White said, glancing back up at the Chameleon. "A problem you maybe able to help me with."

* * *

At her home, May stands in her kitchen, setting down plates next to the various bowls and plates of freshly prepared food. The elderly, gray-haired Anna Watson stands at the other side of the table, setting down a full pitcher of cold milk.

"Thank you for inviting me over, May," Anna said.

"It's no problem," May said, setting down the last plate. "I can't wait until Mary Jane gets here. I'm anxious for her to finally meet Peter."

"So am I," Anna said. "It's just a shame that her flight was delayed."

"Don't worry," May said. "You two are welcome here in my home any time you want."

May and Anna turn around as they hear the doorbell ring. May smiles as she walks out of the kitchen and to the front door. She opens the door and finds Peter standing outside, smiling.

"Peter," May said. "Come on in, dear."

Peter steps inside and May shuts the door behind him. She walks with Peter over to the kitchen, where Anna is filling a glass with milk.

"Hello, Peter," Anna said, smiling. "Welcome back."

"Thanks, Miss Watson," Peter said, moving his aunt's chair out for her. "It's nice to see you again."

"Thank you, dear," May said, sitting.

"How was your flight?" Anna asked, taking her seat.

"It was fine, thanks," Peter said.

He walked to his own chair and was about to sit when the phone rang. May smiles at Peter and rises up from her seat.

"I'll get it," May said.

She walked out of the dining room and to the kitchen. May picked up the phone and held it to her ear.

"Hello?" May asked. She listened for a few moments and nodded. "Yes, he's here. Just a moment."

May puts her hand on the speaker end of the phone and looks at Peter.

"Who is it?" Peter asked.

"It's Mr. Jameson, dear," May said. "He wants to speak to you."

Peter walks over and takes the phone from his Aunt. He holds the phone to his ear.

"Hello, Mr. Jameson," Peter answered. "What is it?"

"There's been a break-in over at stage nine of Wonder Studios," Jameson said. "I want you to get down there as soon as you can and check it out."

"All right, then," Peter said. "I'm on my way, sir."

Peter turns around and he looks at his Aunt May. He forces a smile.

"I'm sorry, Aunt May, but I can't stay," Peter said. "I've got to go cover a story for Mr. Jameson."

"Don't you at least want me to pack you a sandwich on the way?" Aunt May asked.

Peter smirked. "Don't worry about me, Aunt May. I'll swing on over to get dinner along the way. It was nice to see you again, Miss Watson."

Peter exits the dining room, rushes into the hall, unlocks the front door and opens it. He shuts it behind him. Aunt May frowns.

"Oh, poor Peter," Aunt May said, walking to her table. "Always rushing about."

* * *

Within the room, several police officers were already in attendance. Some were questioning witnesses, others were checking the area for clues. Standing at the side of the room was a mid-40s, bearded African-American man - Edward Davison. He was holding an ice-pack on the side of his head and was speaking to a mid-40s, portly policeman - Officer Compton Jenkins.

"Did you see anything at all?" Officer Jenkins asked.

"No, I didn't," Davison said. "I told you, I was hit on the back of the head. By the time I woke up, the entire area had been cleared out."

"And you're certain the doors were locked?" Officer Jenkins asked.

"Of course," Davison said. "I told you, that security system to the vault was thumb-print accessible only. There's no way that anyone who didn't work here could have gone through."

"So then you're thinking it's an inside job?" Officer Jenkins asked, looking skeptical.

"Look, I've told you everything I know," Davison said, irritated. "I've got a splitting headache, two employees have gone missing..."

"Missing? Who's gone missing?"

Davison turns around to see that it was Peter Parker, camera held firmly in his hands, who asked the question.

"How did you get in here?" Davison asked.

"It's all right, sir," Peter said. "I'm a photographer for the Daily Bugle. You said that two of your employees had gone missing."

"Yeah," Davison said. "Donny Burke and Jennifer Simmons. They were two of the make-up assistants here. They were still in here working after their boss, Mr. Beck, left the studio a half-hour early."

"When was the last time that you saw them?" Peter asked. "Maybe there was something that..."

Before he could finish, Peter suddenly froze for a few moments. He could feel a sharp tingling in the back of his skull and something seemed to flash around him in a red and blue negative version of itself, like the room was caught in a strobe light. The same effect happened in Peter's pupils, but it was invisible to everyone around him.

"Hey!"

Peter suddenly turned around to see a familiar police officer was angrily storming towards him. It was Captain Barbera. Peter tried not to smirk. After all, he hadn't seen him since he had saved Maria Calderone from her captor Lisa Alvarez, and he certainly didn't know he had come back to town since transferring to another precinct.

"No press allowed!" Captain Barbera snapped. "Who let the shutterbug in?"

"Captain Barbera?" Peter asked, a bit surprised. "I didn't expect to see you again. I thought you moved to another police department."

"I've just been away for a while, kid," Barbera said, sneering. "Would you mind telling me what you're doing here?"

"I just came by to get some photos for Mr. Jameson," Peter said. "You know, the Bugle's been a loyal supporter here for the past several..."

"I don't need a history lesson from some pimple-faced pip-squeak," Barbera said, snatching Peter's camera. He pushes Peter's shoulder, making him move back a few steps, and he looks down at the camera. "And we're _not _ready for any photos until an official press conference has been called!"

Barbera opened the back of the camera and promptly, quickly pulled out the film. Peter frowned at his ruined film. To his surprise, Barbera dropped the camera and stepped on it a few times to make sure it was broken. Barbera had taken his camera from him before, but he'd never attempted to break it.

"That was a little much, don't you think, Captain?" Peter asked, surprised.

"Aw," Barbera said, with a mocked frown. "Do you need to save up your allowance all over again to get a new camera?"

Peter lowers his head and shuts his eyes. His spider-sense ws still tingling in the back of his head. All around him, the room again flashed in red and blue like it was in a strobe light, but Peter didn't notice. This time, his spider-sense was different. The tingling in his head was stronger, closer...

"Excuse me."

Peter felt a hand grab his arm and he turned to see the hand belonged to a thin mid-40s officer, McKinney, that was standing behind him.

"Get him out of here," Barbera said, eyeing Peter firmly.

"Yes, Captain," McKenna nodded.

Officer McKenna gently tugged Peter by the arm and he walked with him to the door. Peter rubbed the back of his head and tried not to wince.

"You okay?" McKenna asked. "You look a little pale."

"Just a headache," Peter said, reaching the door. Peter walked out of the room and he went out into the hall. McKenna shut the door behind him.

All of a sudden, the tingling of his spider-sense had quickly faded. With each step he took, the more it went away. Peter turned around and looked at the door. It was strange. What had set off his spider-sense? Was there something wrong in there? Or maybe there was someone in there that wasn't supposed to be?

"Besides _me_?" Peter thought.

Peter knew there was more to this scene than what met the eye. He could feel it, literally. But as he walked off, Peter smiled to himself. During a previous run-in with Captain Barbera, the night that Dr. Moon's clone had caused the Tovald Committee board members' elevator to crash, he had his camera's film exposed and lost his photos.

But tonight was different.


	4. Chapter 4 First Targets

"HE BROKE YOUR CAMERA?"

Peter Parker stood at the desk of J. Jonah Jameson, whose face was becoming more and more pink with anger by the second.

"You _had_ the photos taken!" Jameson bellowed. "You _had_ the photos taken of the crime scene! You were the _only _cameraman who had snuck into the studio! _And he exposed your film and broke your camera!_"

"I know," Peter said calmly. "It really wasn't like Captain Barbera. He was acting very strangely tonight when I was there taking-"

"I don't _care_ about Barbera's temper tantrum!" Jameson said, his face turning from pink to red. "You had a job to do, Parker! You were supposed to get those pictures for the front page! Did you at least get a comment out of one of the witnesses?"

"Not really," Peter said, again totally calm. "I didn't get to speak for very long to -"

"Well, that's just DANDY!" Jameson snapped, still upset. "You seem pretty smug for kissing your assignment goodbye!"

"But Mr. Jameson, if you'd just let me explain," Peter said, "you_ really_ don't understand what I'm trying t-"

Just then, the door to Jameson's office opened and Robbie Robertson entered, clearly confused.

"What's going on?" Robbie asked, walking in.

"_Not now, Robbie!_" Jameson snapped, his eyes still on Peter. "You haven't a photo to show for it! If you weren't a freelancer, I'd have your -"

"Who said I didn't get a photo?" Peter asked, puzzled.

"Your camera was _destroyed_, Parker!" Jameson said. "Whatever photos you DID take we clearly can't use!"

Peter smiled, reaching into his jacket. "What about these photos?"

He pulled out a camera from within his jacket, hidden in a pocket. Jameson's eyes went wide at the sight of the camera.

"A _second_ camera?" Jameson snapped.

"I tried to say so before," Peter said, apologetically. "I brought a spare in case any of my film was exposed by the police. I thought it'd be wise to bring it along-"

"_Never mind!_" Jameson said, leaning back in his chair. He started to calm down and rubbed his eyes with a groan. "Look, I need those pictures for the front page. How soon can you have the photos ready?"

"About an hour," Peter said.

"Well, go get started," Robbie said, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder and walking with him to the door. "The sooner we get the pictures developed, the sooner we can get them to the presses for next morning's paper."

"Yes sir, Mr. Robertson," Peter nodded.

"Go on," Robbie said, opening the door. "Jonah and I need to go over the story for page two."

Peter left and let the door close behind him. Robbie turns and looks at Jameson. Robbie smirks.

"You okay, Jonah?" Robbie asked.

"I am now," Jonah said, relaxing. "We need those photos, Robbie. There's more to this story than Peter knows."

Robbie gave Jonah a puzzled look. What did he mean? And why did he suddenly have a feeling things were worse with the robbery than he knew?

* * *

It was nearly eight thirty when business at Roy's Pizza Parlor had finally settled down. In the back room, most of the workers had just taken a much-needed break. Only Dawn and Bobby were left helping Roy handle the food. David peeked his head out of the back room to see that there were now only two people left in line. Every table in the parlor was still filled with customers. David smirked and walked back to the large, round dinner table where Jessica, Vince, Ben, and Wendy already sat. Three large pizzas were on the table - one pepperoni, one cheese, and one with mushrooms.

"Are all of the tables still full?" Jessica asked.

"Yes," David said, sitting on the last empty seat. "Is it always this busy?"

"Some days it's _busier_," Ben said. "If you think this is bad, you should see the _Monday_ crowds. Every Monday, every large pizza is just four dollars."

"Four dollars?" David asked.

"The boss has to compete with the other pizza chains," Wendy explained, setting a large slice of pepperoni pizza down on a paper plate. "Roy's Pizza Parlor is the most successful pizza place in this part of the city. The lower prices and special deals he puts up helps keep his place open. Having the best-tasting pizza around here doesn't hurt, either."

"And since you're the new guy," Jessica grinned, "I assume you have never had the honor of having one of our famous slices."

"I'm afraid not," David said.

"Well, we need to fix that," Jessica said. "What kind of slice would you like? Pepperoni? Mushroom?"

"A pepperoni pizza slice is fine," David said.

Jessica smiles and she grabs the biggest slice of their large pepperoni pizza. However, as the large pizza was 20 inches, every piece was big. Jessica sets it down on the plate and sets the plate down over at David's spot. David picks up the slice of pizza and takes a bite out of it. He swallows his bite, he looks at his co-workers and he smiles.

"That is very good," David said, impressed. He wasn't much of a pizza eater, but this was easily the best pizza that he'd even eaten.

"What'd we tell you?" Wendy said.

David and his co-workers started eating together. Jessica took a bite out of her own pepperoni pizza slice, while Ben took a sip from his large cup of Coca-Cola.

"Anyone need a refill on their drinks?" Wendy asked.

"Not me, thanks," Vince said, setting down his own large cup back on the table. "I just re-filled my Dr. Pepper."

"So, David," Ben asked, "how long have you been here in New York?"

"Not for very long," David said, grabbing his large cup of Coca-Cola. "I was going to check into a hotel and then I was going to look for a place to live."

Everyone at the table suddenly stopped what they were doing and glanced at David. David stopped sipping his drink as he noticed that all of his co-workers were staring at him.

"Are you _serious?_" Jessica asked, shocked.

"Yes," David said. "Is that a problem?"

"Finding a place to live around here isn't an option anymore," Vince said. "There isn't a home or apartment available to live in this part of town. The closest place to find a place to live is fifteen miles south of here, and even then the prices are incredibly high."

David frowned. He didn't have that kind of money for a place to stay. Heck, he barely had enough for a week's stay at a hotel. Ben glanced at David and smiled.

"Listen, David," Ben said, "I had a roommate that was staying with me at my apartment. He had to move out last week and he's in Boston now. I could use a roommate, if you don't mind me offering. Would you be interested?"

David smiled at Ben, pleased with the offer.

"Yes," David said.

He took another bite out of his pizza slice and, for the first time in days, was able to relax and enjoy his dinner. David felt content for the moment. He had a new job, and now, he had a new roommate. It seemed like his luck was starting to change for the better.

* * *

At Wonder Studios, security guard Davison walks into the back of a large make-up room. He opens a drawer of a make-up table and sees a large make-up tutorial book kept inside. Davison smiles, pulls the book out and sets it on the table. Davison opens the book and thumbs through a few pages. He stops as he hears a door unlock from the outside. The door opens and a mid-50s, thin night watchman, Luis Stevens, enters the room. He sees Davison at the make-up table and Stevens steps back, startled.

"Geez, Davison!" Stevens said, shaking his head. "What're you doing back in here? I thought you left the studio after the police came over."

Before Stevens can answer, he is struck on the back of the head with a club by a masked man. Stevens drops to the floor, unconscious, and the masked thug looks up at Davison. Davison smiles at the unconscious Stevens.

"He did," Davison said.

"You have what you want, Chameleon?" the masked thug asked.

"Almost," said the fake Davison, speaking in the Russian accent of the Chameleon. "I just need to load up the last of the equipment and make-up supplies. Is the guard still unconscious?"

"Yeah, I got him," the masked thug said. "I still don't get why I didn't kill 'im too."

"_Because_," the fake Davison said, irritated, "you were only supposed to drug that policeman, not take his life. Now we have a body to dispose of, no thanks to you. Can you get Russell to assist me, please? I need all of the help I can get unloading the supplies."

"Coming right up," the masked thug said, sneering through his mask.

The thug turns and walks off. Chameleon, still disguised as Davison, walks to the make-up table and looks at the various notebooks, journals and catalogues set on it. He opens a catalog and looks at the index page. It shows the complete listings of make-up for face pieces, false noses, wigs, scars, and every other item needed to transform an actor into their character role. The Chameleon smiled. He had a whole new listing of faces to use, to adapt... and to wear.

* * *

At midnight, in a cell of an abandoned warehouse, Jennifer Simmons - 25 with long brunette hair and a lean physique - and Donny Burke - 26 years old with brown hair and a lean muscled physique - lie unconscious on the floor, both wearing T-shirts and jeans. Their arms are behind their backs and their wrists are handcuffed.

Mr. White and the Chameleon, in normal clothes and wearing his trademark white mask, stand out and look through the barred door of the cell.

"You've done well, Chameleon," Mr. White said. "You've got the assistants I needed."

"Why them?" Chameleon asked. "Why do you want them kept here?"

"You'll find out in due time," Mr. White said. "Your job's only half done. You still have two more targets left to find... and one more robbery left to commit."

"When do you want me to start?" Chameleon asked.

"Tomorrow night," Mr. White said. "There are a few more items I need to collect to make the job work."

* * *

The next morning, Ben awoke on his bed in his apartment. It wasn't very big, but it had enough space for his bed and his new roommate's. Outside of the open bedroom door, the door to the kitchen was at the left side, while the door to the living room was at the right. Ben looked at David's bed, finding that it was empty and had already been made. Ben sniffed the air. Something smelled good. He got out of his bed, walked out of the open doorway to the kitchen and he walked through the open door. Ben saw David was already in the kitchen, dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, socks and shoes. He was already hard at work cooking breakfast. Two plates filled with plain toast, bacon and scrambled eggs were on the counter to David's left. His attention to cooking the next batch of eggs was briefly interrupted as he glanced to his right and saw Ben.

"Good morning," David said, smiling.

"Good morning," Ben said. "Did you sleep well? Was your bed comfortable enough?"

"Yes," David said. "I've got breakfast almost ready. Hope you don't mind bacon and eggs. Do you like your eggs scrambled?"

"Scrambled sounds just fine, thank you," Ben smirked, pleasantly surprised. "It was really nice of you to do this."

"It's no problem," David said, turning his attention back to the eggs he still had cooking. "You were nice enough to let me stay here as your roommate. It was the least I could do."

"Like you said," Ben said, "it's no problem."

David smiles and grabs one plate of food. He hands it over to Ben.

"I didn't know how you liked your toast, so I just left it plain," David said.

"Thanks," Ben said. "After breakfast, we'd better get moving to Roy's if we want to make it on-time."

"All right," David said.

He took the plate in his hand and walked over to the dining table. He took a seat, set his plate down and saw that a jar of jam and a small plate with a stick of butter were already set there. Ben picked up a piece of bacon, took a bite out of it, and smirked. His new roommate was polite, considerate, and had actually done something his previous roommate did not: make and serve _edible_ food.

* * *

In the abandoned warehouse, Donny and Jennifer lay asleep on the floor. Donny stirred and moaned, trying to move his arms. Finding that his wrists were handcuffed together behind his back, Donny opened his eyes and quickly looked around the room. He saw Jennifer asleep beside him.

"Jennifer?" Donny asked.

Jennifer didn't awaken. Donny tried to reach her, but couldn't.

"Jennifer!"

Jennifer moaned and opened her eyes, awakening. She turned her head and looked at Donny.

"Donny?" Jennifer asked groggily.

She felt the handcuffs on her wrists and tried to move, but couldn't. Jennifer opened her eyes and looked around the room.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"I was hoping _you_ knew," Donny said.

Jennifer squirmed and managed to push herself up into a sitting position. She looked around the room and saw that the door outside of their cell was open. Distant footsteps could be heard in the hall, and they were getting closer.

"Someone's coming," Jennifer said.

Donny managed to sit up and he saw Mr. White walk into the room. He stood outside the front of the jail cell door and he smiled at Donny and Jennifer.

"Good morning," Mr. White said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Who are you?" Jennifer asked. "Where are we?"

"Who I am is of no real importance, young lady," Mr. White said. "As to where you are, you're in a little hideout of mine."

Donny looked at Mr. White in realization. "Wait a minute. You're Mr. White. I remember reading about you in the paper."

"How clever," Mr. White said, smiling. "You know your stories, don't you, Mr. Burke? You're more than you appear, especially to your co-worker."

"What is he talking about?" Jennifer asked Donny.

"That's a conversation for another time," Mr. White said. "I've ordered my chef to cook you breakfast. Rest assured, I have no intention of starving or poisoning either of you."

"But you still haven't explained why we're here," Donny said firmly. "What do you want with us?"

"Not just you," Mr. White smiled. "I have a few more targets I need to find. When I do, you'll have more company."

"You mean you'll have more prisoners," Donny said.

Mr. White chuckled. "All in due time. Enjoy your breakfast."

Jennifer and Donny watched as Mr. White walked away and out of the doorway. He shuts the door behind him.

* * *

Though the clock said eight A.M., Peter Parker had been awake in his bedroom for nearly two hours now. Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, Peter was seated at his desk and was making the latest modifications to his newest model of his web-shooter devices. Like he had designed them originally, they were thin enough to be worn under the gloves rather than on top of them. These new bracelet models were slimmer than the past design and they had far more storage capacity to hold nearly thirty web cartridges.

Speaking of the webbing, Peter looked at a full cartridge and held it in his hand. He'd since manage to make his web more durable than he had before. It was going to be a lot harder to break now, in a material similar to Nylon but it was almost as strong as steel.

Peter put one web-shooter on his left hand, fastening the bracelet around his wrist and locking it into place. A slim trigger band goes down to Peter's middle and ring fingers, with its flat red button in range. Peter tapped his two fingers to the trigger's button, and heard the nozzle click. Peter looked at the band, and found it empty.

"Great going, Parker," he thought. "How do you expect a successful test if you didn't put the cartridges_ in_ the shooter first?"

Peter grabbed a cartridge and slid it into the storage space in the middle of the bracelet, directly in front of the trigger. When the catridge locked into place, Peter turned around and looked at his nearby lamp. He tapped his middle and ring fingers again, and with a loud THWIP, he sent a gooey string of webbing shooting out of the nozzle. As it hit the shade of the lamp, the web expanded out and stuck the lamp to the wall.

Peter smirked, unable to believe his eyes. It worked. He'd actually gotten his new model to work.

"That should do nicely," Peter thought.

With that, Peter turned his attention to his new Spider-Man costume he had made, which was now on his bed. He stood up, walked to his bed, and glanced down at his new costume. It was identical to the old one in design. It was still the usual red-and-blue look with a web pattern sown onto the red gloves, boots, mask, and red areas of his costume. But now the skinny black spider emblem sown on the chest was in a different design than before, still of a different design than the rounder red spider emblem on the back of his costume. The fabric of the costume was still like spandex, but looked it somehow tougher, more durable, and looked less like a knock-off Halloween costume. The eyepieces on his mask were made of white one-way lenses rather than mirrored lenses, and they were no longer round shaped, but rather a slimmer, thinner looking design.

Near the costume lay his unbuckled utility belt. Like the web-shooters, it was a leaner model with more pockets to store his new, skinnier web-fluid catridges. Also like his new web-shooters, Peter planned to wear it under his costume rather than over it. But there were some improvements to this new belt. On the buckle, he had a round red flashlight projector with an image of his Spider-Man mask's face. He also had several pouches on the belt to store his special spider-tracer devices.

For a moment, Peter was so busy in thought of what to do with his new utility belt that he didn't even hear the first ring of his telephone. The second ring caught Peter's attention and he turned to it. Peter quickly raced to the phone, and on the third ring, he picked it up and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" Peter asked.

"Good morning, Peter," May said on the other end of the phone. "Have you eaten breakfast yet?"

"I was just about to grab a bowl of Cheerios," Peter said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, dear," Aunt May said. "I'm calling because I have some good news. Anna Watson just came by the house and told me that Mary Jane was coming into town tonight. She wanted to know if you're free for dinner tonight."

Peter frowned. "And where's the good news?" he thought.

"Uh, I'm not sure, Aunt May," Peter said. "I've got some work to finish up for Mr. Jameson and I still have to study for my history exam on Monday."

"It'll only be for an hour," May said. "She's really been looking forward to meeting you. Please, dear. Won't you drop by for a short while tonight? It'll just be dinner."

Peter glanced at his work table and then lowered his head. He'd rather be dodging some crook's gunfire than sit at a table with a girl he'd never met.

"All right, Aunt May," Peter sighed. "What time is she coming over for dinner?"

"Seven o'clock," Aunt May answered, clearly excited. "I'll see you at my house again tonight."

"All right, Aunt May," Peter said. "Good-bye."

Peter hung up the phone and grimaced at the thought of having a blind date to look forward to. He was about to walk away when he heard the phone ring again. Peter picked up the phone and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" Peter asked.

"Hey, Peter," Robbie said on the other line.

"Hey, Robbie," Peter said. "What's up?"

"Jonah wants you to come down to the Bugle," Robbie said. "There's more news about that robbery at Wonder Studios you need to know about."


	5. Chapter 5 Questioning

In his hotel room in New York, Jack McGee was seated at a desk and he was looking at a map of New York. He had blue thumb tacks stuck in different areas of the city, each one with a note labeling a different location where Spider-Man had been spotted. Jack rubbed his chin, trying to think of a common link to the areas. But the only link that Jack knew was that Spider-Man just randomly showed up at an area where a crime had been committed.

But then it hit Jack.

Unlike John Doe, Spider-Man had a common ally, someone who was there wherever Spider-Man went. Jack picked up a red thumb tack from his desk and stuck it on a specific part of the city. He turned his head as he heard his phone ring. Jack picks up the phone and holds it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jack," said a familiar voice over the phone.

"Mark," Jack said. "What's up?"

"Not much," Mark said. "How was the trip to New York?"

"Not bad," Jack said. "I'm trying to finish up this Spider-Man story as soon as I can. And I've found a way to do that. I've got a map with me with a blue thumb tack stuck in every location where Spider-Man stopped a crime. I've just put a red thumb tack, which is my key to finding out where Spider-Man is."

"What key?" Mark asked.

"It's a not what, Mark, it's a who," Jack smirked and sat back in his chair. "Peter Parker."

* * *

It was nearly nine A.M. when Peter made it at the Daily Bugle. Peter walked into the main hall and saw secretary Rita Conway seated at her desk. She had her phone held to her ear and looked rather glum.

"Are you sure?" Rita asked.

Peter stopped walking and he noticed Rita was looking worried. She listened to the phone for a few moments, and heaved a sigh.

"All right," Rita said. "Thank you, Officer."

As Rita hung up the phone, she turned and noticed Peter for the first time.

"Oh. Hey, Pete," Rita said.

"What's wrong, Rita?" Peter asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

Rita shook her head. "I really doubt that, Pete. One of my best friends was abducted from Wonder Studios last night. Her name is-"

"Jennifer Simmons?" Peter asked.

Rita looked at Peter in surprise. "You know her?"

"I heard her name when I went to the studio last night," Peter said. "She was one of the two assistants kidnapped last night. Do the police have any new leads?"

"I wish," Rita said, sitting back in her chair. "I just spoke to Captain Barbera and all I got from him was an attitude. I was supposed to meet her today over breakfast, but..." She bit her lowrer lip and looked down sadly. "Oh, Peter, I'm so worried about her."

"Don't worry," Peter said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure they'll find her."

Just then, the door to Jameson's office opened and Robbie looked out at them.

"I thought I heard your voice, Peter," Robbie said, waving for Peter to enter. "Mr. Jameson's waiting."

"I'm coming," Peter said. He looked back from Robbie to Rita. "I'll talk with you more later, Rita."

Rita nodded sadly and watched as Peter walked to the office. Robbie shut the door behind him.

* * *

Peter walked to Jameson's desk and saw that Jonah was standing at his desk, holding a copy of the Daily Bugle newspaper in his hands.

"What is it, Mr. Jameson?" Peter asked.

"Have a seat, Parker," Jonah said. Peter walked over and sat on a chair in front of his desk. "You told me last night that you overheard a guard talking about two make-up assistants that went missing."

"Yes, sir," Peter said. "Donny Burke and Jennifer Simmons."

"Yeah, well, there's a common link to the assistants and the Bugle," Jameson said.

"I know, sir," Peter said. "Rita already told me that Jennifer was her old friend and -"

"Not her, Parker," Jameson said. "I meant Donny Burke. There is no Donny Burke."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, puzzled.

"That was just an alias," Jameson said, setting the folder down on the desk. "The man who disappeared was working for the Bugle. He's one of our new reporters."

Peter grabs the folder and opens it up to the front page. He sees a photo of Donny Burke paper-clipped onto the page.

"His name is Ned Leeds," Jameson said. "He found out about some equipment that had been disappearing from different parts of the city. It turns out that there had been three different robberies around the city at jewelry shops and make-up stores. Leeds found out that there was a man spotted at each location and that he had taken a job at Wonder Studios."

"Who was the man he saw?" Peter asked.

"Ned didn't know," Jameson said, "but he was so sure that he could find out. He said he just needed a little more time to find out about the robberies. I agreed to send him on assignment at Wonder Studios and he took a job there as a make-up assistant under the name Donny Burke. He was working with some kind of make-up and special effects guru named Quentin Beck. But now that they've been abducted, they could find out that he's a reporter."

"And if they do," Peter said in realization, "then Ned's life could be in serious danger. They wouldn't exactly take too kindly to find out that the make-up assistant they wanted was actually a reporter in disguise."

"That's why I needed to talk with you," Jameson said. "If there's anything else you remember about last night, anything else you saw or heard while you were there, every bit of information could help us find out what happened. And now with that second robbery there last night, there's-"

"Second robbery?" Peter interrupted, surprised. "What second robbery?"

"Later that night," Jameson said, "after you left Wonder Studios, one of the night guards was clubbed over the head from behind after he found a studio security guard in the make-up department. Several of the make-up books, wigs, masks, contact lenses, and other items were stolen."

"Where are the guards now?" Peter asked.

"The night guard, Stevens, was found by police and is resting at home," Robbie said. "The police are questioning the employee who apparently robbed the make-up department. His name's Edward Davison."

"Davison?" Peter asked. "I met him last night at the studio. He was the security guard that was being questioned about the robberies."

"See if you can get in the prison and question him," Jameson said. "If you can't, then see if you can ask that night guard some questions. We'll need all the help we can get."

* * *

A short time later, Peter walked out of the elevator and down the hall to the main entry/exit doors.

"Mr. Parker!"

Peter turned around and saw that McGee was following after him. "Peter Parker, right?"

"Yes," Peter nodded, puzzled. But it was clear that Peter's confusion was nothing compared to Jack's own when he heard Peter confirm who he was.

"I have to say," Jack said, "I wasn't expecting you to be quite so young."

"I'm a freelance photographer here," Peter said. "I go to college. Who are you again?"

"I'm Jack McGee," Jack said. "I'm from the National Regis-"

After hearing Jack's name, Peter's eyes widened and on the "from", Peter had turned and was heading for the exit doors... quickly. Jack hurried after him and he walked alongside Peter.

"Listen," Jack said, "I'm here because we have a common agenda."

"Forgive me, Mr. McGee," Peter said, trying not to make eye contact, "but I highly doubt that you and I could possibly have anything in common."

"Well, it's not a 'what' exactly," Jack answered. "It's a 'who'. It's about you and Spider-Man." Peter instantly stopped and turned his head to Jack. Jack smirked and went on. "You see, I've been busy covering the John Doe story for a few years now, but I can't continue my story until I can do one on your pal who swings around in red and blue tights."

"First of all, they're not tights," Peter said, almost defensive. "And second, why are you coming to me about this?"

"You've gotten all of the exclusive photos of Spider-Man for the Bugle from the beginning," Jack said. "You obviously have some sort of a relationship with Spider-Man. I was hoping you could share some of your secrets as to how I could find him or where he goes off to."

"Well, you're guess is as good as mine," Peter said. "I take his photos, but that's all the relationship I have with him."

Peter started to leave again, when Jack gently grabbed his arm.

"Listen, Parker," Jack said, "you seem like a good kid, but I can tell you're not a very good liar. I was hoping we could talk about this and get on good terms. Because you see, with our without your help, I will find a way to get to Spider-Man."

Peter gently took Jack's hand off his arm. "Excuse me, Mr. McGee. I have a job to do."

Peter turned and walked to the exit. Jack watched as Peter got to the main doors, opened one and walked outside. Jack sighed as the door slammed shut behind Peter. "So do I, kid."

* * *

Peter walked off down the sidewalk, walking away from the Bugle. He shook his head, irritated. First, he found out that Rita's friend was one of the captives. Then, he discovered that one of his own co-workers was the other captive. Now, he had to worry about a so-called reporter, and from the National Register, trying to get a story on Spider-Man. It was bad enough he had to deal with bank robbers and crimelords. He didn't need to deal with dodging a nosy reporter too.

For now, he had to get Jack McGee off of his mind. He had a job to do, and this time, he was going to try to get his questions answered.

* * *

At Roy's Pizza Parlor, David was in the back, mopping up the floor. Dawn was in the back, washing some dishes. She stops and turns to David, noticing his mopping.

"How're things going over there, Bell?" Dawn asked, smirking.

"Fine, thanks," David said. "After this, I'll go clean up the office."

"Yeah, sure" Dawn said, pointing at the floor. "Just finish over there too. You missed a spot. And trust me, Roy inspects all the clean up himself. He notices every little detail."

"Thanks for the tip," David said.

The side kitchen door opens and Roy enters. He smiles at David, who resumes mopping. He is mopping the very spot that Dawn pointed out.

"Nice job, David," Roy said. "How's your first morning here going?"

"Very well, sir, thank you," David said, smiling.

Dawn smiled and shook her head. She was about to put up a dish, when -

"Uh-uh," Roy said. "You missed a spot."

"What?" Dawn asked, eyeing the plate. "Where?"

Roy walked over and stood next to Dawn. He pointed at a small brown crumb on the side of the plate.

"_There_," Roy said. "Every plate has to look like new for every customer. That means spotless."

"Right," Dawn nodded.

Roy walked off and David watched as he left. He turned back to Dawn, impressed. "He's good."

"That's why he's the boss," Dawn said. "Now get back to mopping, or _you'll _be next."

David quickly turned his attention back to his work.

* * *

In the visitor's center of the prison, Peter was seated at a table in front of a glass one-way mirror and was holding a phone to his ear. He saw a mid-30s, blonde officer - Paulson - walk over to the table. Davison walked with her, in a prison jumpsuit and handcuffs. Davison sat on a chair at the other side of the table, picked up his own phone and held it to his ear.

"Are you Mr. Davison," Peter asked, "the guard from Wonder Studios?"

"Yeah," Davison said. He paused and stared at Peter. "Wait a minute. I saw you there last night. You were that photographer that asked me those questions."

"Yes, I did," Peter nodded.

"So you're the one from the Bugle who wanted to talk to me," Davison said. "What's this about?"

"One of the night guards saw you in the make-up room before the last robbery took place," Peter said. "He thought you'd left for home after what happened last night."

"I did leave the studio," Davison said. "My head was still aching from being hit last night, so my girlfriend Lucy picked me up. She took me out for a late dinner and then she took me home."

"Wait a second," Peter said. "Your girlfriend drove you home?"

Davison nodded. "My car is still in the parking lot. One of my friends even waited our table when we arrived."

"Mr. Davison, this is very important. Where exactly did you go to eat last night?"

"Roy's Pizza Parlor," Davison said. "It's located downtown across the street from the Ditko Art Gallery."

"What's your friend's name?" Peter asked.

"Jessica," Davison said. "Jessica Cassidy. Her father used to work for Wonder Studios till he passed away last year. She'd often come by there to pick up her dad or meet him there for dinner."

Peter nodded. "All right. I'll go over to the Pizza Parlor and talk to Miss Cassidy. I'll see what I can do about getting you released."

"Thank you," Davison said. "I'd love to know who it was who attacked my old buddy Luis last night. I still can't believe he thought I'd have someone attack him, let alone rob from that place."

Peter suddenly tensed. His spider-sense was going off again. The room began to flash and strobe, seen in a red and blue negative version of itself, as a strong tingling went through the back of his skull. Peter turned his head, this time adjusting to the spider-sense rather than being frozen by it. He saw Captain Barbera and Officer McKenna were walking over to him.

"You again," Barbera said, sneering. "What are you doing back here?"

"Oh hello, Captain," Peter said. "I was just questioning Mr. Davison here about the theft at-"

"Well, your time is_ up_, kid," Barbera said. "We need Davison for further questioning about the stolen items from Wonder Studios. Why don't you run along and go back to the playground where you belong? McKenna, show him out."

"There's no need for that," Peter said, standing. "I can show myself out. Good day, Captain."

"_Good day_," Barbera scowled, "and _good-bye_."

Peter turned and walked off to the exit. He rubbed the back of his head. Barbera watched as Peter left and he turned back to Paulson. "Paulson, take Davison down to the interrogation room. I want to know everything he knows."

"Yes, sir," Paulson nodded.

Barbera looked back at the exit and saw that Peter had shut the door behind him.

* * *

At a phone booth across the street from the police station, Peter was standing inside with the phone held to his ear.

"That's right, Mr. Jameson," Peter said. "I'm going over to Roy's Pizza Parlor now to question the waitress. If I can get Davison's story confirmed by her, then we can prove he was set up."

"But how?" Jameson asked on the other end of the phone. "The night guard swore that it was Davison there at the make-up department."

"Yes, I know," Peter said. "Let me worry about whether or not there was an impostor posing as Davison. I'll see what I can find out at the pizza parlor, Mr. Jameson. Goodbye."

"Good-bye," Jameson said, before hanging up.

Peter hung up the phone and heaved a sigh. He then opened the phone booth's door and walked out.


End file.
